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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044687">Such Great Heights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss'>nameless_bliss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All comfort no hurt, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s05e01 The Crowening, Fluff, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Present Tense, They talk about their feelings and then make out, that's it that's the whole fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:13:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know our relationship isn’t boring. I know you’re happy, but, maybe… maybe I do get a little worried, sometimes, that—now that we’re at this point—that we’ve settled. Sometimes I wonder if you think… it’s too calm. Too predictable.”<br/>David frowns. “I absolutely think that.”</p><p>After the ropes course, Patrick needs some closure about a certain magazine quiz.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>514</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Such Great Heights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Is it done yet?”</p><p>“I haven’t started yet.”</p><p>“Can you hurry up, please?”</p><p>“Not until you stop moving.”</p><p>“I’m not moving,” David says as he wiggles his hand. </p><p>Patrick looks up from where he’s kneeling between David’s legs, at the foot of the bed (David has already thoroughly expressed his mortification at Patrick’s willingness to be in such close contact with the motel carpet). “David, do you want my help, or not?”</p><p>David presses his lips together, like he’s actually considering his answer. But after a moment, his wrist goes slack in Patrick’s grip. </p><p>Patrick indulges himself in the tiniest of smirks as he picks up the tweezers. “You’re being very brave, you know.”</p><p>David makes an indignant noise. “Please just get this over with before I get gangrene.”</p><p>“You’re not gonna get gangrene.” Patrick squeezes David’s palm to get a better angle. “Probably just tetanus.”</p><p>“Patrick, this is serious. There is a piece of dirty rope debris, <em> in my flesh. </em>I don’t trust where that rope’s been! Who knows how many diseases are festering in a park like that!”</p><p>Patrick gives a distracted hum of affirmation while he searches David’s hand. The debris in question is a single pale fiber, small enough that he almost loses sight of it every time he blinks. It takes significantly more pinching and prodding than he was expecting before he finally manages to finesse the splinter out of David’s palm. “Well, David, I think you’re gonna pull through. But with a wound this severe, I shouldn’t make any promises. We’ll have to wait and see if you survive the night.”</p><p>David rolls his eyes, pulling his hand out of Patrick’s grip so he can examine the damage. “It felt a lot bigger than it was.”</p><p>Oh there’s a joke there—</p><p>“Don’t,” David warns.</p><p>Patrick chuckles as he slips the tweezers back into their specific compartment in David’s extremely thorough first aid kit (a collection he says he began carefully cultivating after not the first, not the second, but the <em> fourth </em>time he’d had to go to Ted for medical attention, at which point he vowed to Never Again be left in need). He gets out the antibacterial ointment, but before he can get it open, his eyes catch on something else, something just barely poking out from under the bed. </p><p>“Oh my, what do we have here?” Patrick picks the crumpled issue of Major Lady Magazine up off of the floor. “Is this the publication that had such a low opinion of us?” He starts to flip through the pages—</p><p>“Okay, no.” David plucks the magazine out of Patrick’s hands before he can find what he’s looking for. “Nope, nope nope. We are <em> not </em>doing that.” He flings it across the room with a surprising amount of force, skidding it all the way into the bathroom. </p><p>“Hey!” Patrick frowns with mock disappointment. “I really want to read their advice on how to save our dying relationship.”</p><p>“Mm, trust me, you do not.”</p><p>Patrick’s smile twists up, and he rests a hand on David’s knee, squeezing playfully. “Are you sure? Because it’s well known that old magazine quizzes are one of the foremost experts on interpersonal <em> electricity.</em>”</p><p>“Okay, this joke died like an hour ago,” David gives Patrick’s hand a patronizing little pat, “you’re not gonna get any more mileage out of it.”</p><p>“Oh, I dunno, David. I think it might still have a spark or two left.”</p><p>David scoffs, but without any real heat. “I can’t speak for you, but <em> I </em>am not trusting the opinion of a quiz that’s on the same page as an ad for control-top pantyhose.”</p><p>It’s a joke, so Patrick laughs. He starts fiddling with one of David’s rings… </p><p>“What?”</p><p>Patrick looks up. “What?”</p><p>“That’s your overthinking face.” David taps the furrow between Patrick’s eyebrows. “What’s going on in there?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>David’s expression tilts in two different directions, in that perfect look of patronizing disbelief. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that. What’s—” His eyes dart over to the discarded magazine, then they go comically wide. “Oh god, you’re not actually… you don’t think I <em> actually </em> care about that stupid quiz?” He takes his hands away from Patrick so they can start an elaborate gesticulation. “Because I swear, it was nothing, just Alexis being awful, and the language they use in the results is <em> very </em>condescending and it made me defensive, and it just spiraled—” </p><p>“I know,” Patrick interrupts gently. He leans in a little closer, placing both his hands on David’s thighs. “It’s not that. I know you’re happy with me. I love you, and I know you love me—” David clears his throat, shaking his head dismissively, but it doesn’t hide the dimple in his cheek, and Patrick can’t hold back a grin, “—and I know that now, you only get a <em> little </em>embarrassed when I say things like that.”</p><p>David rolls his eyes, trying to tuck his smile into the corner of his mouth. After a moment, he looks at Patrick, his expression more guarded. “But?”</p><p>“But.” Patrick sits back on his heels. The thoughts have been bouncing around his head all afternoon, but he didn’t think he’d have to articulate them tonight, so it’s difficult to untangle the jumble of words into something understandable. “I know this is new for you. I know long-term relationships are… different. I’m not saying they get boring, but they do get… They settle. Things calm down. It’s not better or worse, but it is different, and not everyone likes that kind of thing, and that’s fine.” </p><p>He takes a breath, giving himself a moment to sort out a few more words as carefully as he can. “And I’ve done this before. I knew we’d get to this point, so I knew what it would be like. But I know it’s all new for you, and—” he sighs. “I know our relationship isn’t boring. I know you’re happy, but, maybe… maybe I do get a little worried, sometimes, that—now that we’re at this point—that we’ve settled. Sometimes I wonder if you think… it’s too calm. Too predictable.”</p><p>David frowns. “I absolutely think that.”</p><p>He— </p><p>Patrick slumps back. “Okay, then!” He lets out a dumbfounded, punched-out laugh. “I guess I wasn’t expecting my biggest fears to be confirmed <em> that </em>enthusiastically, but—”</p><p>“No, god, Patrick,” David leans forward, gripping Patrick’s shoulders. “That’s <em> good. </em>It’s good that you’re boring.”</p><p>Patrick’s mouth falls open. He tries to come up with a snarky retort to that, but all that comes out is another helpless chuckle. </p><p>“No!” David shakes his head in frustration. “I don’t mean boring like that. I mean, like… it’s…” his head keeps wiggling as he struggles to find the words. “It’s like—It’s like my parents.”</p><p>“Your parents,” Patrick repeats, voice flat, torn between the confusion of what David is saying, and the total joy of watching him flail as he tries to say it.</p><p>David sits up, obviously needing his full range of motion to get through this. “I mean, it’s—I mean. Do you think my mother ever has to <em> remember </em>that my dad loves her?”</p><p>“Um.” Patrick blinks through the unexpectedness of that question. “I’m guessing… no?”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em> not!” David’s voice rises into a completely new key. “She doesn’t have to remember it because she never has to <em> forget </em> it because she just fucking <em> knows. </em> Because it’s been like that for forty goddamn years. It’s not a <em> thing </em> anymore, it’s just a fact. They don’t even have to think about it anymore, because it’s… who they are. They can’t forget it anymore because it just <em> is.</em>”</p><p>Patrick tilts his head as he takes this all in, the up-close beauty of David Rose overcome with passion about a train of thought that Patrick can barely follow. He knows this is important, so he tries to keep his smile somewhat subdued. “Are you saying you don’t want to have to think about our relationship anymore? ‘Cause I’m not quite sure how to take that, David.” </p><p>David’s lips press into a tight, determined line. It’s a familiar look: there’s something he wants to say, and he’s deciding whether the value of it will outweigh the vulnerability it takes to say it. He takes a deep breath. “I still have to remember it. Not all the time; it used to be <em> all </em> the time, but still. And every time I remember that someone is still here, putting up with me for this long, I’m. I am <em> baffled. </em>” He over-emphasizes the word, and gives it a wild gesture, like adding some melodrama will distract from the sincerity of what he’s saying. “And maybe that means that I… actually kind of like the… settling. The more it settles, the less surprised I get that it’s—that you’re still here. I like the idea that you—” he makes a small noise, and looks down at his hands. “I think it’s nice that you loving me isn’t new anymore. I like that it’s predictable. It’s… a nice thing to be able to predict.” </p><p>Oh.</p><p>Patrick can feel that. It starts in his chest, warm like a shot of whiskey taken just right. It seeps through to his limbs, all the way into the tips of his fingers. He reaches forward. “David—”</p><p>But he’s not quick enough. David snatches his hand away before Patrick can get to it. He clears his throat, and shakes his head, and very un-subtly tries to pull them out of the softness he’d just made. “So what I’m saying is, yes, the magazine was right all along. You are terribly, terribly boring.”</p><p>Patrick’s mouth tucks down into a smile. “Sure, David.” With the moment broken, he takes the opportunity to get the antibacterial ointment out of the first aid kit. He’s not convinced that it’s totally necessary, but he’s very convinced that David will still appreciate the gesture of it. Sure enough, David offers Patrick his grievously-injured palm without being asked.</p><p>And while they’re both distracted by his careful application of ointment, Patrick goes for it. “I think I know what you mean, though. About it not being surprising anymore.”</p><p>David is quiet for a moment. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Patrick smiles, but keeps his attention on David’s hand. “Maybe not exactly like what you said, but. When we got together, there was a while where I couldn’t really wrap my head around how good things were. I couldn’t believe how happy I was. And I hadn’t thought about it that way, but now that you say it like this, yeah. It’s like I constantly had to stop and remember how happy I was. Anytime I felt good, I had to <em> realize </em>how good I felt, because that was so different for me.” He slips the tube of ointment back in its place, wiping his fingers on his jeans. “And that doesn’t really happen anymore. These days, I don’t really think about it, because I’m used to it. And you’re right, it is really nice that I’m so used to being happy that now, being happy just feels normal. I think that’s kind of amazing.”</p><p>He looks up, so he can watch the emotions play across David’s face—the beautiful, <em> beautiful </em> journey of embarrassment and happiness warring to be most prominent, while simultaneously trying to be tamped down so none of it can be seen. It’s become one of Patrick’s favorite things, the simple, overwhelming pleasure of seeing someone so beautiful feel so much. He’s always been pretty sure that David feels things two or three or ten times harder than most people do, and that’s never more apparent than when Patrick stops and just <em> looks </em>at him.  </p><p>But still, when it starts to look like David is honestly struggling to put together a sentence, blushing and blinking and clearing his throat, Patrick decides to be nice and give him something steadier to hold onto.</p><p>“But just to make sure we really have closure on this, David,” Patrick takes his hand, “I need some clarification. If, as you say, the magazine was right, does that mean that you <em>do, </em>in fact, require a generator?”</p><p>David’s eye roll is nothing short of spectacular. “My generator needs are already met, thanks so much.”</p><p>“So, you already have one.”</p><p>“Yes, fine, whatever makes this metaphor end.”</p><p>“Oh good, that’s good to hear.” Patrick turns David’s hand, so his (non-injured) palm is up. “Now, do you need any help getting it going?” He fights to keep his expression from faltering, and adds, “Turning it on?” And before David has the chance to immediately dump him for the lameness of his pickup lines, he presses a kiss to David’s palm. Then another, slower, wetter, holding David’s gaze. </p><p>David opens his mouth just so he can make a show of pressing his lips together with the maximum amount of drama, tucking them all the way between his teeth. He turns pointedly to look to his left, then his right, then he leans down and whispers in a comically over-sultry voice, “I don’t know if you’re aware, but my sister is <em> not </em>in this room right now. In fact, she’s going to be at Ted’s and not in this room, all—night—long,” he shimmies his shoulders with the words and it’s fucking ridiculous, it’s a joke and it’s silly and it should not send a significant amount of Patrick’s blood rushing right to his crotch.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>“That is fascinating information, David.” It’s all he can manage to get out before he surges forward. He catches David’s mouth with his own while David is still halfway through a laugh. His lips are parted, his breath is warm on Patrick’s face, everything is slightly off-balance and slightly mistimed and it’s absolutely perfect. </p><p>Patrick kneels up, but he still can’t get close enough like this, there’s all this empty space between their bodies which is completely unacceptable. David catches on pretty quickly, and with a smile that’s somehow right between flattered and smug, he takes the initiative to haul Patrick up and onto the bed. After a bit of undignified wiggling, David is laid back against the pillows, letting Patrick settle between his gloriously spread legs. David’s hair is already slightly left of perfect after the helmet situation this afternoon, and now it’s just getting messier, and Patrick cannot resist burying his fingers into it. He gets a good handful and <em>tugs, </em>ducking his face just in time to catch David’s moan in his mouth.</p><p>It’s not enough.</p><p>Patrick’s hands are everywhere, wandering and grabbing while his brain desperately tries to decide where he wants to touch first. He toys with the hem of David’s sweatshirt, letting his fingertips slip ever-so-gently underneath. He traces David’s hip, over to his belly button, through the hair just above the waistband of his shorts—</p><p>David’s lips part in a gasp. It’s quiet; it’s almost bashful in its gentleness and secrecy, and it’s all the encouragement Patrick needs. He rucks up David’s sweatshirt and runs the flat of his hand up David’s stomach, groping his chest—and there’s something about this, about being crammed in this twin bed with the smell of sunshine and sweat on their skin and the residual ache of the ropes course in his muscles that’s making Patrick lose his entire goddamn mind. All he can do is whimper and grind his hips as he feels up his boyfriend under his clothes like he might never get another chance. David arches into the touch, and he winds his legs up around Patrick’s waist— </p><p>“Ugh, <em> fuck.</em>” David’s whole body stiffens, then his legs flop back down onto the mattress. “So I guess I’m gonna be sore for the rest of my life now. I’m gonna have splinters, and be sore, and that’s what I get.”</p><p>Patrick grins at the pure petulance in his voice. “David, we were in that park for <em> maybe </em>two hours. Are you really saying that’s too much physical exertion for one day? Because I gotta say, that really impacts my plan for the rest of the night.” He tweaks David’s nipple, just to make him squirm. “I thought you’d be used to a bit of vigorous exercise by now.”</p><p>“Yeah, not <em> a thousand feet </em> in the air! I finished every fucking course and I didn’t even want to do <em> one </em> of them and my body is not used to the abject misery of having to do ‘vigorous exercise’ just to keep from falling to my death!”</p><p>Patrick starts to laugh, but also— “You did.” His laugh morphs into a helpless groan, and he buries his face in the crook of David’s neck. “David, you did every course.” His hands keep wandering under David’s clothes and his head is spinning because <em> David Rose, </em>because his boyfriend struggled and flailed and made himself sore and miserable for an entire afternoon, which should all be ridiculous, except, “You did all of that, for—”</p><p>“I did it,” David interrupts firmly, “to spite my sister and prove a point to a <em> magazine.</em>”</p><p>“Sure, David.” Patrick presses his lips to David’s neck, open and wet. He tries to focus on just this, on the taste of David’s skin and the feel of his chest hair, on the grounded, uncomplicated sensations, and not the much headier feeling of his boyfriend sacrificing his sense of comfort and safety just to make a statement about their relationship—and how that discomfort sits right smack in the same vulnerable place as admitting that he’s happy about their love becoming predictable and boring, which is all too much, <em> so much </em>more than Patrick was expecting to deal with on goddamn merchandising day. </p><p>So he tries to keep that in the background. After all, it’s not like it’s a real hardship to focus all his attention on making David’s moans become more and more desperate, instead. David nudges Patrick’s face, and Patrick eagerly lets himself be pulled into a kiss. David’s tongue teases the seam of his lips, and when Patrick moans and ruts against him, he can feel how hard David is getting in his shorts, which makes something ignite in the pit of Patrick’s stomach.</p><p>“But I—I wasn’t kidding,” David mumbles, barely deigning to separate their mouths. “I think I might be—mm, <em> god</em>—might be too sore for this.”</p><p>Patrick likewise decides not to fully interrupt their kissing, speaking against David’s lips. “Don’t worry, I can keep you <em> very </em>comfortable.”  </p><p>“Mm, that won’t ruin any of your big plans?”</p><p>“I mean, the plan was ‘make David come as many times as possible’, so I don’t think it’ll be too much of a challenge to make sure you don’t have to exert yourself more than you already have.”</p><p>David makes a broken noise, head thrown back, jerking up against Patrick’s body. “You’re so considerate.” It’s probably supposed to be teasing, but the need in his voice makes him sound perfectly sincere.</p><p>As it turns out, the actual challenge is trying to do <em> anything </em>in this tiny bed. It’s not the first time they’ve shared it, but it is the first time they’ve shared it with privacy, in other words: the first time they have to find a way to fuck in it. Patrick lets himself get swept up in the logistical possibilities, even as David seems to be trying to shut his brain down completely by kissing him senseless. By the time Patrick finally gets his hand into David’s shorts, his lips already feel raw and swollen but there’s no way in hell he’s gonna stop anytime soon.</p><p>David is so hard, he’s already leaking, and he bucks his hips and <em> moans, </em> “Fuck, that’s so good,” right into Patrick’s ear, and goddammit Patrick needs to get their clothes <em> off </em>this second, needs to feel David’s cock against him, needs to make David come apart at the seams, needs to make him—</p><p>“Y’know, David I was just—<em> Oh! </em> Oh, wha—”</p><p>They hadn’t even heard the door open.</p><p>“Dad, what the <em> fuck—</em>”</p><p>Patrick and David separate as fast as humanly possible. David sits bolt upright, but there’s nowhere else for Patrick to <em> go </em>in a bed this small, so all he can think to do is lie face-down, like he might be able to bury himself under the pillows. </p><p>“No! No, I didn’t—” Mr. Rose sputters, “Wh— no, no, the—your, the door was unlocked, and I—”</p><p>“It <em> absolutely </em> was not!”</p><p>“Well, I—I heard you come home, and I thought maybe—”</p><p>“Okay, bye!” </p><p>“Yes, right, right, not the best time, obviously you’ve—got your hands full, here.”</p><p>“<em>Oh my god! </em>”</p><p>Patrick can’t help but laugh, even as David flails violently next to him. </p><p>“So I’ll just be—I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just—um. Hello, hi there, ah, Patrick.”</p><p>“Hi, Mr. Rose,” Patrick says into the pillow, patiently waiting for death.</p><p>“Always nice to see you. Not, of course, not that I <em> saw—” </em></p><p>“Ohmyg— Out! Get out!” </p><p>“Right! Well I’ll—Right. I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll just, I’ll be…” The door closes, but Johnny doesn’t stop talking, and his rambles fade slowly through the wall. </p><p>“Oh my god.”</p><p>Patrick turns his face so his mouth isn’t pressed to the pillow anymore, because he can’t catch his breath. The giggles have bubbled from his chest up to his throat and he’s completely helpless to stop them now. </p><p>“<em>Excuse </em> me, what exactly do you find <em> humorous </em>about this?!”</p><p>“I dunno, David.” Patrick wriggles until he can prop himself up on his elbows. “There’s this boy I like, and I’m in his bedroom, and his dad just caught us making out. There’s something kinda nice about that.” He shrugs one shoulder. “About fifteen years late, but I got here eventually.”</p><p>David’s face twists up, clearly not wanting to smile while he’s still being outraged. “Wow, a boy you <em>‘like’?</em> That was a fast demotion; ten minutes ago you said you loved me.”</p><p>“I can do both.”</p><p>The teasing scrunch of David’s face softens, and his expression falls open into something else, something quietly surprised. It’s a familiar sight; it’s something Patrick has seen every time he says anything too nice, anything David can’t brush off as sarcasm. The surprise is still there, even after all this time. But Patrick has been paying attention, and he’s seen it start to fade, little by little.  </p><p>Patrick sits up, bumping his knee against David’s thigh. He leans in, and lowers his voice into his best approximation of enticement. “You want to know what I think we should do now?”</p><p>David keeps his distance, obviously wary of the shift in tone. “Yes?”</p><p>“I think,” he puts his hand on David’s hip, “we should order pizza.”</p><p>David inhales sharply. “I’m listening.”</p><p>“And get a good bottle of wine.”</p><p>“Mm-hm.”</p><p>“And something for dessert.”</p><p>David moans in approval, snuggling closer, reaching for Patrick’s face—</p><p>“And we should ask your dad to have dinner with us.”</p><p>The switch is instantaneous, and <em> perfect. </em> David’s face twists up in horror, and his hands jerk back, so they end up scrunched under his chin in a near-perfect image of Alexis. Patrick swallows down laughter as David fights to speak through his disgust. “I beg y—I <em> demand </em>your pardon?”</p><p>“He’s lonely, David.” </p><p>“He is <em> seventy </em> years old, he should be able to survive being alone for <em> one week </em>without needing someone to babysit him!”</p><p>Patrick tilts his head, pouting with sufficiently overplayed hurt. “So when I’m seventy, if I get lonely when I’m left by myself, you’re saying you wouldn’t want someone to take pity and have dinner with me?”</p><p>It’s a lot. Even with the obvious teasing, Patrick knows it’s still a <em> lot. </em>Regardless of what David said earlier, Patrick is well aware that there are about a million steps between ‘I like our long-term relationship’ and casually joking forty years into the future. But he can’t stop himself. He’ll backpedal if he needs to, but right now, he wants to say this, and he wants to watch David squirm about it.</p><p>And squirm he does. Patrick watches it in his face, then his shoulders, then his hands. It’s like a full-body blush, like he’s trying to wiggle out of his skin to get away from the conversation. It should look ridiculous, it should be funny. And it’s not <em> not </em>funny, but more than that, it’s charming. It’s so goddamn charming to watch David wiggle through his entire thought process, trying so hard to not express anything that he ends up expressing an entire messy symphony. </p><p>The face he eventually settles on is decidedly unhappy, which means that he’s going to deflect, but that’s not any less charming, really. “You are going to order from the <em> good </em> pizza place in Elmdale.” He pokes Patrick square in the chest for emphasis. “He does not get any say in toppings. We get <em> two </em> bottles of wine. If these conditions are met, I will agree to <em>din-ner,”</em> two more pokes, “and that’s it. If he tries dragging you into some charades family bonding bullshit, you are on your own.”</p><p>For the sake of diplomacy, Patrick tries to keep his grin from looking too smug. “I find those terms acceptable.” He rewards David with a gentle kiss on the cheek, and then another, and another, until he can feel David’s scowl melt under the press of his lips. </p><p>When David finally softens enough to lean into Patrick’s touch, turning his head for a proper kiss, Patrick pulls away. “Hey, Mr. Rose?” He calls through the wall, grinning at the look of utter betrayal on David’s face, “David has something he’d like to ask you.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You're supposed to write codas nineteen months after the episode airs, right?</p><p>This fic exists solely because of Rachel, an Actual Angel, who helped me work through this, specifically, and is always there to convince me that I'm not a terrible writer, generally. Thank you for continuing to care after all this time.</p><p>Title taken from the song of the same name by Iron &amp; Wine (originally by The Postal Service, but we're going by Vibes here).</p><p>As always, thank you so much for reading! I'd always love to hear from you, either here or over on my <a href="https://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/post/627169113401376768">tumblr</a>! Stay inside, wash your hands, and take care of yourselves!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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